February. - Poem by Miki Byrne
February, how I hate to see you
Slinking round the corner.
Dragging your cold voluminous cloak.
The one with the poachers' pockets
Into which you stuff warmth like contraband.
I shiver to see your icicle nails that scrape
frosty trails across my skin and your hair,
All silver frosted and wind-wild.
Spiky as a black and leafless hawthorn.
You are small in stature. Yet the chill of your
Dour nature is all encompassing.
In daylights scurrying hours and night-times
Long vigil, you stalk us as we yearn for heat
And despise us for that yearning.
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